Large drops of rain were now beginning to fall.
Tom and Dick had been walking some little distance in advance of the rest of the party, who consequently had not overheard their conversation. A halt being made, Mrs. Weldon inquired what was the matter. Tom explained that a camp or village had been noticed a little way in front, and that the captain had gone forward to investigate it. Mrs. Weldon asked no further questions, but quietly waited the result. It was only a few minutes before Dick returned.
"You may come on," he cried.
"Is the camp deserted?" asked Tom.
"It is not a camp at all; it is a lot of ant-hills!"
"Ant-hills!" echoed Benedict, suddenly aroused into a state of excitement.
[Illustration: One after another, the whole party made their way inside]
"No doubt of it, Mr. Benedict." replied Dick; "they are ant-hills twelve feet high at least: and I hope we shall be able to get into them."
"Twelve feet!" the naturalist repeated; "they must be those of the termites, the white ants; there is no other insect that could make them. Wonderful architects are the termites."
"Termites, or whatever they are, they will have to turn out for us," said Dick.